


Baby, Baby, We Can Do More Than Just Talk

by Cottonstones



Category: Panic At The Disco, Young Veins
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cottonstones/pseuds/Cottonstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You in your room yet?" Ryan breathes softly across the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, Baby, We Can Do More Than Just Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Kink Bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/). Title taken from "Digital Getdown" by 'N Sync.

"You in your room yet?" Ryan breathes softly across the line. Jon closes his bedroom door and walks over the bed, popping the button on his jeans before crawling into bed, settling himself in the middle with his back against the wall.

"Yeah, I'm good," Jon says. Jon tries to keep his voice normal, because he doesn't want to give in to Ryan too early. Ryan huffs out a little laugh.

"Good. You should take your pants off now," Ryan says.

"I have them undone," Jon offers. He closes his eyes and lets one hand rest warm and a little rough on his lower stomach, the tips of his fingers brushing the top of the waistband of his boxers. He tries to picture Ryan sprawled all long-limbed on his bed, probably still in his pants, definitely at least half-hard by now.

"I want them to be off," Ryan replies.

"You can't even see me," Jon says, even though he's lifting his hips and shimmying out of his jeans. Jon pushes the fabric down and kicks them off. Jon's cock is half-hard just from the anticipation of what Ryan will say, of how it's a promise of more for later. "There."

"Good boy," Ryan teases. Jon scoffs.

"What about you? Are your pants off?"

Ryan lets out a shaky breath. "Nope, but I _am_ touching myself...just a little...just cupping my dick."

Jon tries to bite back a strangled groan – and he does, for the most part. Ryan still hears, though. Jon can see it clearly: Ryan with his legs splayed and his hand shoved down into the brown corduroy of his pants, the fabric doing nothing to hide the large, heavy bulge of Ryan's cock.

"Are you?" Ryan stutters out. Jon imagines that Ryan's sliding his pants down, eager to get his cock free.

"I...no...just – "

"Teasing yourself?" Ryan asks breathlessly. Jon laughs a little.

"Yeah."

"Will you do it now? For me? I wanna hear you," Ryan whispers. Jon strains his ears to hear the slight rustle of the sheets and the heavy clink of Ryan's belt. Jon groans a little at that and Ryan's breath quickens on the line. Jon cups himself through the thin fabric of his boxers and doesn't hold back the noises like he normally might. He's getting harder by the second – Jon can't tease himself much longer.

He pulls back and slides his hand into his boxers, wrapping a firm hand around himself and letting a moan fall, open and free, from his mouth. Ryan gasps again and Jon strains to listen. Ryan's breath is coming in these little bursts, so Jon thinks that he must already be stroking himself.

Jon's mouth waters at the thought of Ryan's dick fully hard and resting heavy in his hand, the head tinged red and throbbing, leaking a bit.

Jon's own dick jumps in response. He pulls his hand away before he leans in and licks at his palm, the skin of his hand tangy from where he had just been touching himself. Jon pushes his boxers down to his thighs and then wraps his hand around his hard cock once again.

His hands aren’t like Ryan's; his fingers are thicker, rougher, his own touch harder than the way Ryan touches him. "Fuck, I miss your hands," Jon admits. Ryan groans, so Jon continues. "So long and firm, the way you hold my cock...fuck, the way you open me up, press so hard inside..."

"Jon, fuck," Ryan whimpers. Jon can hear the slick sounds of Ryan jerking off.

"Next time we see each other, the first thing I want to do is let you fuck me," Jon murmurs. He rubs his thumb over the slit of his dick and moans again. Ryan is making these choked-off groaning sounds, the ones that Jon loves to evoke from him. "I wouldn't even need you to prep me. I'd do it beforehand so that, as soon as we saw each other, you could get me down wherever you wanted me and just slide inside."

Jon hears a soft thud. He pictures Ryan's free hand gripping the headboard of his bed, sees Ryan pressing his head down into the softness of his pillows. Jon can so clearly make out Ryan with his eyes screwed shut and his lip stuck between his teeth, his shirt pushed up, his pants kicked down to his knees.

"I'd let you fuck me hard...as hard as you wanted. You could have me in every room of your house, like when you first moved in to your place, bent over your couch, against the counters in the kitchen, in the bathtub." Jon squeezes at his cock as he remembers each and every time they had fucked that day, how he had been so sore but proud of the pain and the heated look that Ryan gave him every time Jon winced.

Jon thinks that, if Ryan were here with him in Chicago instead of California, they'd be fucking already. They always tease at first, see who can drive who crazier before the actual sex starts. Jon usually gives in first, because Ryan is a stubborn bastard and can seemingly tease for hours without coming himself.

If Ryan were here, Jon's sure he would already have his knees bent to his chest, Ryan pounding into him like his life depended on it. He rubs his fingers over his leaking slit before lowering his hand down and back, just teasing over his own hole.

Jon sucks in a sharp breath and, just like he's there with Jon, kneeling on the bed and watching, Ryan asks, "Your fingers?"

"I'm not – not yet. Just – just a little," Jon pants, tracing his own hole in agonizingly slow circles, his dick throbbing and his toes flexing into the sheets of his bed. "Hang on, I'm readjusting the phone," Jon tells Ryan before he tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder and lets his now-free hand tighten around his dick. Jon watches the darkened head of his dick push up through the tight circle of his fist.

"Tell me what you're doing, Ryan," Jon begs. Ryan groans in response.

"I'm just, fuck – I'm stroking myself, fast where it feels like it might be too much, like how you touch me when you want me to be as hard as possible before I fuck you – " Ryan groans. Jon joins him, his finger slipping and pressing in shallowly against his own entrance. He doesn't go the rest of the way – not yet.

"What else are you doing?" Jon thumbs along the slit of his cock, spreading pearly pre-come around the head. His hips rut up into the air, fucking nothing. He wishes for large hands and a hot, wet mouth, for just a little more, for anything.

"My balls – I'm touching them – and that little spot you always find – " Ryan's breath hitches across the line. Jon's whole body aches to be in his bedroom, their bodies too hot, Ryan's bed smelling of weed and sweat and sex. "Right – right there," Ryan moans out.

Jon slows the pace of his hand down, because he doesn't want to be the first one to come. With the way Ryan's mouth is running, that's a definite possibility.

"Want you here, Jon," Ryan babbles. Jon pictures his tossing his head back and forth, sweat-damp curls slipping into his eyes. "Want to feel you, touch you, taste you. I want you to be doing this to me."

"Fuck – me, too – everything," Jon grits out.

"Jon, Jon, Jon," Ryan chants, his voice so rough and deep that Jon can tell that it won't be long. He can picture Ryan with his hips bucking up and his heels digging into the mattress as he works himself over with quick, sure strokes. Jon twists his wrists on the upstroke – it's something Ryan usually does for him, but it's still good even without Ryan here.

"Will you finger yourself for me? Please, Jon," Ryan begs. Jon makes a rather undignified keening sound. His fingers are still pressed near his entrance, teasing himself. Jon's fingers are too dry; he'll probably have to suck them again before he can actually get one inside himself.

He can still hear Ryan breathing harshly, but it's slowed a bit, like he knows not to touch himself until Jon's already got his fingers buried in his ass.

Jon brings his hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers into his mouth, tonguing over the digits. He plays up the sucking, making sure to make lots of noise so that Ryan can hear. By the sound of the deep groan he gets in return, it's working.

When his fingers are wet enough, Jon slides them back down. Without much preamble, he slides one thick finger into himself. He gasps and groans, his hips and dick twitching pleasantly. Jon fondles his balls with the hand that had been previously wrapped around his cock as he steadily gets his finger pressed inside all the way. It's not much. He's used to Ryan, who is admittedly so much bigger than one of Jon's fingers.

"How many?" Ryan asks, his breathing quickened once again.

"Just one, but...ah, _ah_ , I need another."

"Please," Ryan whispers darkly.

Jon doesn't bother to answer. He just presses a second finger along the first and feels the tight ring of his muscle stretch. He presses in quickly. It's just a little uncomfortable, but then he's pressing up, skimming across his prostate. Jon moans loud as his body jerks. Ryan echoes it.

"Wish they were your fingers," Jon groans out as he works two digits in and out of his body. He feels almost like he's overstimulated – his hand on his cock and his fingers in his ass while he still tries to listen and talk to Ryan on the phone.

"Can you take three?" Ryan asks desperately. "If I were there, I'd be giving you three."

Jon eases another finger into himself and whines high in his throat. Ryan swears. Jon works the three digits in and out of himself. The angle is all wrong and he can't get quite deep enough. He grunts his frustrations. Ryan is still panting.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't...fuck, not deep enough."

Jon nearly breaks his wrist trying to push back and in enough to stroke at his prostate. He knows that he's not the only one wishing that Ryan's fingers were the ones in Jon's ass.

Jon doesn't go easy on himself. He slides his slick fingers in and out, stretching himself for – well, nothing, really, because Ryan's not here to fuck him into the mattress. He still drags the pads of his fingertips against his prostate, though, his cock throbbing hard. Jon finally starts stroking himself again, giving up on trying to form words for Ryan and just letting him listen instead.

"I want to be fucking you – God, _Jon_." The words rip out of Ryan. Jon knows that he's so, so close. They both are.

"If you were fucking me right now, you know what I would let you do?" Jon asks. He's got one last item stored up in his arsenal of ways to push Ryan over the edge. "I wouldn't make you wear a condom," Jon breathes. He knows that that's a huge kink for Ryan. "I'd want to feel your come inside me."

Ryan is swearing, chanting out Jon's name; Jon knows that he's coming. He jerks himself slower so that it's easier for him to listen as Ryan comes down from his orgasm. They're both breathing harshly. Jon wishes he were there so that he could clean Ryan up, swipe his fingers through Ryan's come to taste it.

"I was supposed to be in control this time," Ryan points out after he can think again. Jon picks up the pace of his strokes, running his fingers along the thick vein on the underside of his cock.

"I haven't come yet," Jon reminds him. Ryan laughs darkly.

"Is that an invitation?" Ryan asks. Jon twists his wrist again and moans loudly in response. "If I were there, I'd be sucking you off right now," Ryan says, his voice thick with the afterglow of his orgasm. "My mouth wrapped tight around your dick...I'd take you all the way down until you touched the back of my throat."

Jon is panting, working his dick furiously. He's so damn close and the mental description Ryan is giving is doing amazing things for him. He's all-too-familiar with how Ryan looks all folded down on his knees with his hands on Jon's thighs and his throat working tight around the head of Jon's cock.

"Ryan," Jon moans. Ryan keeps going.

"I'd ask you to come in my mouth so that I could taste you, salty and hot, on my tongue."

Jon squeezes around the head of his dick, his hips twitching, and then he's coming all over his own stomach and fingers. Jon sinks, loose and languid, into the mattress, trying to catch his breath. He can hear Ryan breathing softly on the line. He wonders if they could fall asleep like this, breathing together miles and miles apart.

"How many more days?" Jon asks. He wipes his hand off on his discarded jeans.

"Mm, two more weeks," Ryan replies with just a twinge of bitterness lacing his voice.

"Do you want to take a nap with me?" Jon asks around a yawn. Ryan laughs.

"Over the phone?"

"Mhm."

"Fine, but don't bitch to me when your cell bill is outrageous," Ryan warns. Jon smiles and lets his eyes fall closed. He barely has enough energy to answer Ryan.

"I'm pretty sure it'll be worth it."


End file.
